Twelve Days of Fanfiction 2007
by The Yuggster
Summary: Twelve days of fanfiction, progressive dinner style. 100 words on the first day, 200 on the second, and so on, ending with 1200 on Christmas Eve. All LOTR, of course.
1. Stars

Title: Twelve Days of Fanfiction 2007

Author: The Yuggster

Disclaimer: _Lord of the Rings_ is/was/will always be the intellectual property of J.R.R. Tolkien.

Summary: Twelve days of fanfiction, progressive dinner style. 100 words on the first day, 200 on the second, and so on, ending with 1200 on Christmas Eve. All LOTR, of course. So the chapters are going to get progressively longer, basically, starting with drabble-length stories and ending up with oneshots.

_For this first one, feel free to pick which father/son pair you think it fits best. I had my own in mind, of course, but I left it kinda vague on purpose._

* * *

**"Stars"**

The winter night was cold and dark.

Leaning against the branches of an old oak tree he waited. The sun had set, the moon was setting, and soon the stars would dance jewel-like across the dark vastness of the night sky.

He held his breath as the moon's light faded. Star-rise would always be a wonder to him.

He glanced down at his son beside him, the stars finding twins in those deep, young eyes. No stain of long years tainted those eyes...they were pure in their wonder and joy.

He smiled. Perhaps there was still beauty in this Middle-Earth.

_

* * *

Happy Holidays from Yuggster!_


	2. In Honor of the Fallen

"**In Honor of the Fallen"**

The winter night was cold and dark.

The fields below Minas Tirith were silent beneath the moon, the cold season driving all but a few travelers to press on for the city rather than risk camping in the open.

The king motioned for his guard to stay back. There was no enemy here to harm him, and the memories he faced must be faced alone.

He walked steadily over the frozen ground of the field, three hundred memories circling his head.

The sounds of battle still echoed in the deep corners of the world. Pain lived on in the living, yet there was healing, too.

Too little healing, it seemed, yet he hoped the next spring would herald new growth for his land. The people who had hardly dared hope for continuing peace would blossom, and the kingdom of men would attain its rightful place in history.

He knelt on the cold earth, one gloved hand brushing the ground. This was the spot where Théoden fell, where so many gave their lives to pay the price of peace.

His thanks could never be enough. Great was the sacrifice...Théoden's fate would never be forgotten. They would have peace.

_"Westu Théoden hál!"__

* * *

Happy Holidays from Yuggster!_


	3. That Was Easy

_Caution: may make references to previous stories, original characters, and urban legends._

* * *

**"That Was Easy"**

"The winter night was cold and dark..."

"You're not going to tell another of your ghost stories, are you?"

"And why not? What else do we have to do?"

"The problem, Strider, is that your ghost stories are somewhat...less than scary."

"What do you mean?"

"_The ghost of Beogarth's severed head arose to taunt him..._even an elfling can think up a better story than that."

"That wasn't a story! That actually happened!"

"And I suppose, then, that the legend of staring into a mirror and chanting Beogarth's name three times is true?"

"His ghost will appear, and you have three days to appease the spirit or lose your own head."

"Yes, I know. He places his ghostly head on your body and wanders the land seeking vengeance for his untimely death."

"What about your stories? The six-foot devil chicken of Mirkwood?"

"I did not make that story up. My brother did."

"And how is it scary?"

"Belegdur's afraid of large birds."

"Belegdur?"

"Yes."

"Your brother?"

"Yes."

"The Terror of Mirkwood? Old Sour Face? He Who Could Make a Hobbit Weep?"

"I only know of one Belegdur, Strider."

"Afraid of large birds?"

"I don't know why, I only know he goes all pale and starts muttering something about giant chickens any time Elladan comes near him now."

"Giant chickens?"

"Yes."

"Elladan?"

"Yes."

"My brother-"

"That's enough!" With a roar of anger, a goblin guard stumped over to their cell, unlocking the door and storming inside. "If you two don't stop bickering I'll drag you to the fire pit by your ears! I'm gonna—"

A crack, a loud thump, and a deep grunt later the guard lay unconscious—or dead—just inside the doorway to the cell.

"Well," Aragorn shrugged, kicking the goblin guard's body into the cell, "that was easy."

_

* * *

Happy Holidays from Yuggster!_

_For more information on the completely non-canonical giant chicken of Mirkwood (El Pollo Diablo), check out _Elladan's Grand Plan_, chapter two. This makes a bit more sense if you're more familiar with my earlier stories._


	4. Forest Craft

"**Forest Craft"**

The winter night was cold and dark.

He had hoped for the light of a full moon to follow the trail, something to tell him where the beasts had taken his companion.

All for firewood...firewood! Surely they could have spent a night without fire to keep from running up against these ruffians.

Estel—_Aragorn_—ducked beside a tree, searching the ground for some hint of what feet had passed through here.

It was no good. All he saw were goblin prints, no sign of his friend.

He hoped that just meant the goblins were carrying him and he wasn't lying dead somewhere in the scrub, hidden from the eyes of a novice ranger.

Aragorn counted the tracks again, looking for the hidden differences his brothers had taught him to find—an iron-shod shoe with an irregular side, small circles where the shoemaker's tacks needed to be hammered in again, the heavier imprint of a large goblin in too-small shoes.

But this wasn't enough. He had no idea where Legolas was being taken, he could only trail along out of sight and pray for a chance to rescue his friend.

He had started to climb a small hill, stooping nearly to the ground to search the tracks, and managed to take two steps before a hand grabbed him by his collar and jerked him back, flipping him around behind a nearby tree.

A hand clamped over his mouth, and he nearly shouted in surprise.

It was Legolas. He had escaped...or else was never captured.

"I told you to stay at the campsite, Estel," the elf whispered. "Did you not see signs of goblin activity?"

"Yes, but I thought they had captured you."

He could almost see the elf's grin. "It takes more than a few goblins to outwit a wood-elf, Aragorn."

"But you left no tracks."

Legolas grinned a rather infuriating grin. "You will have to be a ranger for many years before you can track a wood-elf through the forest, Estel. I took to the trees."

"Trees?" he said, his heart sinking in despair. Truly, he had not thought to look for a sign of the elf in the trees.

"Come," Legolas whispered, easily springing into the nearby tree and holding a hand down for Aragorn. "Come with me, and I will teach you the forest craft of my people, so that not even a fallen leaf escapes your eye."

* * *

_Happy Holidays from Yuggster!_


	5. Mother Hen

_AN: My sincerest apologies for not getting this posted last night. I came home from a dinner at 9:30 and my apartment was cold, so I curled up in bed for a minute to warm up (I have an electric mattress pad—my heat isn't very good so the apartment gets pretty cold pretty quickly) and fell asleep. All the lights were on and everything. Anyway, here's last night's post, and today's will be posted tonight._

* * *

**"Mother Hen"**

The winter night was cold and dark.

Aragorn looked out the window with a deep sigh, the kind that only came from long years of travel in Middle-Earth.

"Does something ail you?"

He faced his wife, a soft smile gracing his handsome face. "Just worried for Legolas, traveling alone on a night like this."

"He has walked this earth for longer than you have been alive, Aragorn."

"Yes, I know, but still..."

Arwen raised one eyebrow in amusement. "Estel?" His childhood name, she'd discovered, was useful in dragging secrets out of her husband.

"He's so...Legolas."

"Aye, he is not you, nor is he Gimli."

"That's not what I mean," Aragorn shook his head, turning away from the window to study the fire. "That elfling could find peril within his wardrobe. Aye, I expect one day to hear he has discovered a new and dangerous world just beyond his cloaks."

Arwen, who had been forced to stifle a laugh at hearing Aragorn call Legolas "elfling", turned her head away in pretended concern. "Will you follow after him?" she asked, knowing he would be uneasy until he knew the elf's fate.

"I do not wish to seem overprotective."

"But that would go against your very nature, Estel," she replied, her voice so smooth her husband barely caught the jest.

"You're saying it's in my nature to worry?"

"As much as it is in a hen to protect her chicks."

Aragorn nodded in silent agreement. Then he snapped his head up, brow creasing in thought. "Arwen...are you saying I'm acting like a mother hen?"

She couldn't hold it in any longer. Arwen laughed, long and hard. "It is something we have come to know _and love _about you," she explained, crossing the room and wrapping her arms around his waist. "You would not be the man you are today if not for the concern you bear for your friends."

"Perhaps I should go after him," he finally said. "If this storm grows much worse, he'll need shelter for the night."

"Remember, Aragorn, Legolas has faced many more winters than you. He knows when to travel and when to take shelter."

"Yes, but would he turn back in weather like this or would his pride make him press forward?"

"I don't think he would be so proud as to endanger his own life," Arwen replied. "Aragorn, you need not worry."

"Knowing that elfling he's already fallen in a ditch somewhere, half frozen."

"Elves cannot feel the cold, my love."

"He will when he turns into a block of ice!"

"Aragorn," Arwen laughed again, resting a hand against her husband's shoulder to calm him down. "You do not need to worry about Legolas."

"And why not?"

"He saw the weather was growing worse and elected to stay until morning."

Aragorn could only stare for a moment. "He...what?"

She smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'm sure he will be touched and amused by your concern...do you wish to check his room for unsafe wardrobes?"

_

* * *

Happy Holidays from Yuggster!_


	6. Of Course

_So...I just realized I was a day ahead, and this would have ended on the 23__rd__ instead of the 24__th__, so I skipped around a bit and fixed it. Eh, I just like to keep the timing right._

* * *

**"Of Course"**

The winter night was cold and dark.

He knelt in the snow searching for footprints, a faint memory from three years earlier flashing through his mind.

This time the prints were clear. Two sets of prints, a terrible struggle, and neither returned from the cliff's edge.

And of course the cliff overlooked the river. Confounded human. Not only did he manage to find a thief out wandering about on a night like this, he also managed to knock them both off the edge of a cliff and into a half-frozen river.

Elrond would be greatly displeased to hear that his foster-son survived only three years as a ranger.

"No reason to go falling over cliffs and into rivers, Aragorn," he muttered, inching his way down the cliff face to search the banks of the river for some clue. "I pray you don't make a habit of this."

Once at the bottom of the cliff (more like a high, steep embankment—the kind that was terrifying to tumble down and nearly impossible to climb back up) he studied the broken ice of the river. One hole had been made...Aragorn and the thief had still been grappling as they plunged into the water.

He shook his head, and flipped his hood back up as it began to snow again. Of course it was snowing. Aragorn just fell off a cliff, landed in a half-frozen river, got washed some distance downstream, and somehow conjured up a snowstorm to cover any and all tracks that might lead Legolas to him.

Ah. He was getting frustrated again. His sister always told him he got angry and frustrated when he was worried. Of course, her claim that he looked like a grumpy elfling missing a favorite toy was somewhat annoying.

Legolas broke into a jog as his sharp eyes spotted something downstream. Someone had crawled up this side of the riverbank.

He crouched beside the prints, resting his fingers against them. He wasn't as good at deciphering human tracks as the rangers, but he could make a guess with these. Setting his own foot beside the tracks he saw they were smaller than his, therefore made by a smaller man. Aragorn's feet were much larger.

Biting back a curse he stood up, pausing for a moment to study up and down the riverbank.

Another spot downstream caught his eye, and there he found the footprints he was looking for.

Aragorn's. Unless there were two men Aragorn's size falling into rivers at this time of year. He hoped not...if all men were like that, the race of men was doomed.

The tracks staggered up the embankment, slipping in places, but finally making it to the top. He easily followed, pulling himself over the edge to spot a motionless figure huddled beneath a tree.

"Aragorn?" Legolas called, hurrying to his friend's side. "Can you hear me?"

The man's face was cold to the touch, his clothes sodden and starting to freeze in places. Legolas shook him, trying to wake him up.

He finally moaned, eyelids barely flickering.

"So you are alive. You know I'll have to kill you now."

"Legolas?"

"You fell of a cliff. Got carried away by a river. Called up a snowstorm to hide your tracks."

Aragorn tried to reply, but his head lolled forward again, and he groaned.

Legolas sighed, hefting the ranger onto his shoulders. "And now I'm carrying you to find shelter. I am still going to kill you, you know."

"Go east," Aragorn whispered, pointing feebly in the wrong direction. "There's...a cave."

The elf laughed and shook his head. "Of course."

_

* * *

Happy Holidays from Yuggster!_


	7. Hope

_Little sad, this one. If it gets too much just close your eyes and think about a basket of kittens or something. That always works for me._

* * *

"**Hope"**

The winter night was cold and dark.

The procession had been spotted shortly before sunset. Twenty or thirty from a nearby village...as they drew closer the rangers discovered that the refugees were mostly women and children.

Many of them were injured, and all were in need of food and shelter.

The rangers set to work, gathering what they could to aid the villagers. Riders were sent to nearby towns in search of medicine and supplies, and others flew into the silence of night to search for the devastated village.

A few men had arrived with the refugees, but most of them were terribly wounded. The who were not were now anxious to return to their village. How many of its defenders were left alive they could not say—only that there were some still standing when last they looked.

Quarters were close, and supplies a little scarce in view of the long winter ahead, but Aragorn could not turn the villagers away. They would have to make do until permanent arrangements could be made—but first there were bellies to feed and wounds to heal.

He found a mother and child among the wounded and took them aside, seeing that the woman's shoulder was badly injured and haphazardly bandaged.

The baby's blanket, too, was splattered with blood but that turned out to be her mother's—the girl herself was uninjured.

"Please, just take care of my daughter."

Aragorn stopped, hand on the woman's bandage. "I beg your pardon."

"The child...my daughter. Take care of her."

He knelt in front of her, taking her hands and forcing her to meet his eyes. She had an odd, distant look in her eyes, barely focusing on the man in front of her. "Your wound will heal in time. You have lost a good amount of blood, but you will heal from that in a few days, with rest."

"I have wounds you cannot heal, Ranger."

The bitterness in her tone surprised him. She seemed so cold, so uncaring for her own life. "Would he have wanted you to throw your life away like this?"

She glared at him, trying feebly to pull out of his grasp. "What do you know, Ranger? You know nothing of my pain!"

He smiled sadly, standing up and starting to unwrap her shoulder. "I know the pain of a woman losing her husband, facing the task of raising a child alone. I know there is an empty ache in your heart that cannot believe he is gone."

The woman tried to snort in disbelief, but a sob caught in her throat instead. "Have you seen many husbands taken from their wives, Ranger?"

"Too many," he lay the dirty bandage aside, picking up a bowl of water and clean rags to wash the wound. "But more, I have seen the emptiness in one when the other is gone, and the long sickness of grief," he added, clearing his throat a little.

She was quiet, flinching only a little when he probed her wound. The baby cooed at her, and she reached over to tickle under her chin.

"And the anger," Aragorn added. "The anger of being forced to endure it all alone. Anger, pain, and emptiness."

"Are your words supposed to comfort me?" she finally asked, her voice dull and flat. He could see redness around her eyes—no doubt she had wept most of the journey here, and would weep still more once he left her alone.

"To prepare you," he countered. "As none prepared my mother."

The woman stilled. "Your mother?"

He slowly began to wrap her wound, choosing his words carefully. "She overcame her grief, for a time, while I was a child."

"For a time?"

An image of a woman flashed into his mind...the woman claiming she had given all her hope to the race of men and kept none for herself. "Do not let your grief overwhelm you," he murmured, reaching down for one of her hands and squeezing it slightly. "Your daughter will need your guidance."

"Ranger...your mother...who...what happened to her?"

He paused, nearly out the door. "Gilraen. She died, last year. She lost her hope.

"I pray you do not lose yours."

_

* * *

Happy Holidays from Yuggster!_


	8. How Did This Happen, Again?

"**How Did This Happen, Again?"**

The winter night was cold and dark.

Snow swirled outside the windows, drifting against the walls of the small cabin.

The world beyond them was silent...belying the turmoil within.

Two pairs of hands were stained with blood. Two pairs of hands were shaking...one in cold, one in pain.

Sweat was dripping into his eyes in spite of the damp chill. He stopped to wipe it away with his sleeve, only smearing more dirt into his face. Biting his lip in concentration, he slowly rotated the barb and pulled.

A gasp from the bed made him stop. He whispered an apology, pulling against the barb with more force. With a great tug it came free, and he dropped it into a bowl full of other barbs.

"Tell me," he finally said through clenched teeth as he found yet another, "how I ended up trekking through snow and wind with the only being under these stars who could find a thorn bush in the midst of winter?"

"It wasn't a thorn bush," the elf replied, fighting to maintain his dignity.

"Forgive me. A trap, then. Did you see what it was?"

"Some kind of rope stretched across the pathway...the barbs were woven into it."

"Ah," Aragorn nodded, fighting to twist the last barb out of his friend's leg. "And how did _you_ blunder into it, oh mighty elf?"

"I was saving _you_ from that avalanche at the time."

"Which wouldn't have happened if you hadn't shouted."

"I wouldn't have shouted if you had not been running in the wrong direction."

"I would not have been running in the wrong direction if you had told me there were two rivers in this valley."

"Which you would have known had you studied the map."

"Which I would have studied had you not destroyed it first."

"But I thought you knew this area like Imladris itself? Isn't that what you told the innkeeper?"

"I had to tell him something! You were likely to offend his wife!"

"Offend his wife? She was offending me. I have smelled better things in the back of an orc's cave!"

"She was only trying to be friendly."

"And I suppose your suggestion that I was a poor lad who missed his mother had nothing to do with it?"

"I had to have some excuse for why you looked so forlorn."

"You did not suppose that drinking song you started about the king of the wood-elves and his merry band of dwarves had anything to do with it?"

"I was trying to fit in. Everyone else was singing drinking songs, I didn't want us to look suspicious."

"No, you were trying to cover up the fact that you'd just discovered your chair had been soaked in stale ale."

"You spilled that on purpose."

"It was the gentleman you tripped on your way over to our table."

"I only tripped him because he was trying to start a fight."

"He was trying to start a fight because you insulted his mother."

"What did I say wrong? So I met his mother when she was a girl...a _long_ time ago. So what if she resembles an old woodcarving now?"

Legolas just shook his head, resting it back against the pillow. "What were we doing in that inn, again?"

A muffled shout from the corner caught both their attentions, and they looked over to see a rough man bound hand and foot and gagged tightly.

"Ah, yes. The villainous Bart."

"Belligerent Bart."

"He doesn't look like a man who's been terrorizing the villages around here for the last three months."

"No," Aragorn shook his head. "He looks a bit scrawny for that."

"Should we throw him back?"

"We'll wait for the storm to die. Then we'll leave him to the wolves."

"Ah," Legolas nodded in agreement, watching as Aragorn tore clean strips of bandages. The wounds really were a nuisance...the barbs woven into the rope had been twisted, and had torn the flesh more in being removed than they had when he'd been struck. "Where were we?"

"The inn."

"Why do I still let you drag me to inns, Strider?"

"Poor memory?" the ranger suggested. "Seems like something like this happens every time you go near one."

"Yes, well, it's your turn next time."

"My turn?"

"What was it you had bad luck with? Ah, yes, it was farms."

"Now, Legolas."

"How many farmers have tried to marry their daughters off to you? Seventy-three?"

"Now, Legolas."

"So many hearts have been broken. Tell me, Strider, when will you cease to break young hearts?"

The ranger just stared, wordlessly, then turned away to deal with their prisoner. "Just sleep. You'll be better in the morning."

Legolas grinned, settling back on the bed a little. That was one way to get out of being drugged _again_.

_

* * *

Happy Holidays from Yuggster!_


	9. The LongExpected Guest

_This one's kind of a sequel to #5 from last year...can be read standalone, but the two kind of fit together, too. Also contains an OC, but you don't have to know about him to read this one._

* * *

**"The Long-Expected Guest"**

The winter night was cold and dark.

He sat on the balcony railing, eyes trained south. The wind around him was bitingly cold, but he did not mind it. Nor could he feel it, this night. This night...there was something momentous about this night.

"Are you out here again?"

He grinned a little, not even needing to hear the voice to know who was behind him. "Care to join me tonight, Belegdur?"

The older elf shook his head, letting a short grunt of amusement out. "I am not particularly keen on spending my nights staring into nothing, Legolas."

"I'm not staring at nothing. I'm looking for someone."

"Of course." Belegdur leaned against the railing, next to his brother. "You do realize it's impossible that he would just ride in out of the snow on a night like this?"

"Perhaps. But I cannot help but feel...I can feel him, tonight."

Belegdur fell silent. While he had not exactly encouraged his brother's friendship with Elrond's mortal foster-son, he could not deny how close the two were. And thus, he could not help but support such a friendship after a time—even after years of separation, somehow the two still seemed close (at least on the elf's end, who knew what that human was doing down south in Rohan).

"Perhaps he's thinking of home."

The older elf's words surprised both, somehow. "Aye, perhaps," Legolas finally replied. "I wonder..."

"Does he miss it."

"Aye, does he. Does he miss his family, or is he happier among other men?"

"The rangers are men, are they not?"

Legolas sighed, drawing his knees up to his chest and carefully balancing on the balcony. "It seems...different tonight."

"You've looked for his coming every year, Legolas. You search out news from the south, any bare tidbit of information...you practically hound the messengers from Rivendell and Lothlórien in hopes of news of him..."

"Any news of him would be most welcome. Were he not to return for a long time yet, just word that he is still living..."

Beledgur was silent in reply. "Come back inside," he finally said. "Father and the others are worried about you...they've been combing the palace in search of you, in fact."

"Have they?" Legolas asked, hopping down off the railing to follow his brother inside.

"Apparently it is beyond certain members of the guard to check your chambers first," the older brother added, dark amusement twisting his voice. "For some reason, every time you seem to go missing half a dozen warriors begin combing the cellars and dungeons."

Legolas let out a short laugh, stopping to brush the snowflakes off his tunic. "According to Strider they should be checking my wardrobe first. He seems to think I'll find trouble in there someday."

Belegdur eyed him critically, then crossed to said wardrobe and threw it open. "Is there any hope you have some decent clothing in here?"

"Why? Has something happened?"

"We have an unexpected guest. Father wants you to greet him in court. Here, these will do," Belegdur shoved a handful of clothing at his brother.

Legolas sighed. He had grown used to Belegdur's preoccupation with dress and propriety over the years, but did he honestly have to treat him like a wayward elfling unable to dress himself?

"Be glad tonight is no formal occasion," Belegdur added in reply to his brother's protests. "Or would you prefer we find your best robes and the circlet you so often insist you've misplaced?"

"What emissary is it this time?" Legolas asked as they approached the throne room, having already fought off his brother's insistence that he re-braid his hair. His hair was fine as it was.

"I am not sure which country he represents."

"Then why does Father need my presence?"

"Apparently word of you has spread to some outlying land. This man, it would seem, wishes to see if those rumors are true."

"And Father is humoring him?" Legolas shook his head. At least, that explained his choice of garments...he wore a tunic and leggings in a similar style to that of the guard's livery but slightly more formal, with silver and gold embroidery around the hem, cuffs, and collar.

"Yes, well..." the two paused at the door as they were announced, and entered to bow to their father. There was a murmur through the crowd at the entry of the two princes—one dressed as one of his father's advisors, the other as an honored captain of the guard.

A slight chuckle from the corner of the room caught Legolas' attention. Duty paid to his father, he turned to see who was laughing.

It was a man. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in travel-stained clothes with an old green cloak thrown about his shoulders. Dark, shaggy hair fell almost to his shoulders and his beard was unkempt. He looked altogether out of place amidst the splendor of the court, and yet somehow seemed more regal than any gathered there.

"My youngest son, Lord Thorongil. I believe you have heard of him."

"Yes. It is an honor to meet you, Legolas."

Legolas could only stare for a moment. "_Strider?_"

Aragorn's face split into a broad grin, and he laughed. In a moment Legolas was across the room, greeting his friend with a long embrace.

The nights he had looked for his friend's return were finally over.

The long years of waiting were finished...the long-expected guest had come.

_

* * *

Happy Holidays from Yuggster!_


End file.
